Help offered for faulty memory

Thursday

Jan 26, 2012 at 12:01 AMJan 26, 2012 at 12:10 PM

Either my memory bank is overdrawn and refuses to handle any more withdrawals, I don’t pay attention to what people tell me or I’m just plain forgetful.

Advancing age is probably a factor, too, because so often lately, someone says to me, “Don’t you remember? I told you about that yesterday.” As far as I’m concerned, I’m hearing whatever it is for the first time.

Like when Gladys asked me last week if I was ready for Pauline’s birthday party.

“What birthday party?” I asked.

“The one you’re having at your house.”

I’m having a party? That was news to me. “Uh … oh, yeah,” I mumbled while silently sending an SOS to my brain. Then, just in the nick of time, it all came back to me. “Oh, sure, I’m almost ready. Are you coming, Vera?”

Obviously, she must have the same problem; otherwise why would she answer, “I wouldn’t miss it, Elsie”?

Another irritant is that every time I go to the store, I think I need ketchup. I get home, start putting away the groceries and find that I already have nine bottles in the cupboard.

Why can’t I remember I have all that ketchup? How come I don’t remember I need syrup until I’m ready to eat my waffle? Must it always take a sudden attack of stomach flu before I remember I forgot to buy toilet paper?

Oh sure, make a list. The minute I get to the store, I remember I left it on the kitchen counter.

Novelist James Barrie — or was it John Steinbeck? — anyway, one of them, wrote: “God gave us memory so we could have roses in December.” Roses in December would be nice. Quite frankly, I’d settle for iced tea in July, but I never have tea bags on hand because when I go to the store I always think I have plenty at home, which I don’t.

Forgetfulness is an affliction as old as man and about as puzzling. After hours of research on Google, I’ve concluded I have what is called selective recall. I can remember the starched navy blue dress with white lace collar my first-grade teacher wore every Monday, but I don’t remember that my own navy blue dress should have gone to the cleaners until I get ready to put it on and see the remains of a Big Mac dribbled down the front.

Within 30 seconds I can put my hands on something as inconsequential as the warranty on my battery-operated massage pillow, but let me put something important away for safekeeping, such as my birth certificate, and I can turn the house upside down without finding it. It’ll turn up somewhere in a place I least expect it, like under the mattress when I’m looking for my car keys.

I read recently about tricks to help you remember what you need from the store or another common problem — people’s names. For instance, when you meet someone for the first time, try to associate the name with a body part.

“Connie Kelly has a big belly.”

“Pete Rose has a long nose.”

“Becky Cox has curly locks.”

I’m afraid I need to work on this a little more. At a party recently, I met someone named Leonard Tandy. I stored “Leonard Tandy smells like brandy” in my memory bank.

I ran into Leonard a few days later and couldn’t come up with his name. After a few uncomfortable moments, all I could call up from my memory bank was “Leonard Tandy spilled brandy on Connie Kelly’s big belly.” Obviously, I’m having trouble getting that system right because Leonard Whatsisname and Connie Whichamacallit have quit speaking to me.

Funny, I can see myself putting that birth certificate away like it was yesterday. Come to think of it, it was yesterday. Now all I have to do is retrace my steps for the past 24 hours. I definitely recall getting up, but everything after that is a blank.

Until something better comes along, I’ll just remember the words of Ernest Hemingway or that other guy: “Rose gave us tomatoes so we could have ketchup in September.”

Hmmm … something has just occurred to me. I wonder if Gladys is going to the birthday party Pauline is throwing at Vera’s house for Elsie.

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